


Mission abroad

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cussing, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff, Killing, Mention of torture, Restraints, Self-Harm, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: "Reader is brought in on a mission that despite its success doesn't go as she would've wanted it. Both the mission itself and the aftermath takes its toll on her."3rd pers PoV which alters between Bucky and reader. This is a part of a loooong story centered around inhuman!reader as she Terraforms and joins the Avengers due to her skillset: detect and manipulate living cells. Posted it on Tumblr a long time ago. Not the full story, just this part. Why am I sooo crappy at writing summaries?!





	Mission abroad

They’ve flown her over one night, picking her up just as she got home from a run and she’d only just had time to grab the go-back (meaning [Y/N] could change out of the sweaty clothes and into uniform in the air). As soon as they’d landed, she’d been ushered into an unimpressive car with rusty fenders and it was only as they were driving, that she got a hint of where they were (the initiative-rich traffic around them would have been a clue even if there had been no street signs): Italy.

When the car stops, agent Sanders, a narrow-faced man with waning black hair, points to a narrow house. Entering, [Y/N] sees that it’s a temporary headquarters for some black op. Natasha is leaning in over another agent as they study the screen but looks up and sends the arrivals a smile. A man and a woman [Y/N] haven’t met before are sitting at a low table where they are busy with a game of cards, judging by the little tri-coloured badge they must be local SHIELD operatives.

“He’s upstairs.” Natasha smirks.

[Y/N] already knows and she’s halfway up the stairs, dumping the backpack against the wall when she reaches the top landing. There is only time for a tight hug before one of the agents (the woman) calls for Bucky and [Y/N] from the bottom of the stairs. The voice is deep and melodic, a trait that makes it hard to resist. When they join the team again, a map is projected onto one of the walls showing streets with vaguely familiar names that sets the newcomer’s brain clicking and whirring.

“[Y/N]. You’ve met Sanders. This is Arianna and Luca, both part of the local taskforce.”

Luca is a short, broad guy, without a line in the olive skin so he is probably not more than 25 years old. Observant brown eyes are tracking the movements of [Y/N] and he smiles faintly when he notices how close she and Bucky stay to each other. His reaction is made more noticeable by the indifference of Arianna.  
She is taller, about the same height as Natasha, which is a bit unusual for Italians. _Maybe she is from up north._ The woman has keen green eyes. The deep brown hair has been brightened by blond streaks and is tied up in a smooth ponytail.

Everyone exchanges nods as [Y/N]’s mentor continues with a business-like voice. “The tip you got in DC has led us to assume that Betty Ross is kept captive here,” she indicates a spot on the map between Piazza di Santa Maria and Viale di Trastevere, “but unfortunately we haven’t been able to verify it or even get close enough to see how many hostiles are on the premises.”

“We hit a house earlier this month on US soil, but it was a sham…” Sanders stops abruptly and from the serious faces it’s easy to tell that there must have been casualties.

“They led you on a wild goose chase on purpose…”

The three (semi-)Americans nod gravely, but Natasha quickly regains her practical approach. “We can’t get any drones in the air hear without them noticing…that’s how they knew we were approaching last time. What we need’s a _different_ type of radar that can get close enough.”

“I just have to get close enough?” An array of options is blossoming in [Y/N]’s head.

“Inconspicuously.” There is a gravelly warning in Bucky’s voice that only the women who know him pick up on.

“Good thing I got my training gear with me…and already smell of dead mule.”

…

It only takes five minutes to change, but when [Y/N] comes back down, the place is cleaned and not a single trace of the makeshift base is left. If a neighbour had been watching this afternoon they might have wondered why five people dressed in full battle gear and one jogger all piled into a faded blue van together…but no one’s paying attention.

They make their way through increasingly narrow streets leading them into town before Sanders pulls the car over just around the corner of the destination.

“We’ll circle the block and wait for anything at the other end of the street. Any sign of trouble, you just let us know and we’ll be there in less than a minute.” Wiggling the earplug into place [Y/N] hears his stern voice echoed.

It’s a simple job, but her heart is already pumping hard as she ducks out the sliding door and into the unseasonal heat of the day. _Indian Summer…isn’t that the term?_ A few steps and a little tweaking of the bodily functions ensures a convincing sweat to form like dew on her skin and [Y/N] finds her usual pace for long runs.

“Remember it’s number six. Brown double gate.” It’s reassuring to hear Natasha’s voice, even as the jogger rounds the corner effectively obscuring any view, they have of each other.

The best way to get to slow down on a jog without it looking suspicious is by stretching. A few steps before the door, her calf protests with a cramp and all she has to do is hobble the last bit of the way before she can use the raised doorstep to straighten it out on…while she spies.

“Top floor…three people, two asleep and one shitting. Ground floor has five. There is a basement with two already down there, probably tied up, and two more people descending.” It’s only a low mutter, hidden down at the knee as she bends further down to increase the pull on the sore muscle.

“Woman?”

“One in basement. Unharmed.” _More than can be said about the man._ There is something slightly familiar about him, but she can’t place it.

One of the men is coming to the door, opening it abruptly just as his comrades face off against the male prisoner in the basement. Straightening up, [Y/N] can see into a pair of ice-blue eyes in a soft face that is framed by almost white blond hair. He is tall and muscular in a way that screams of endurance rather than brute force.

“Andarsene.” _Leave._ He’s voice is surprisingly light and she’s about to obey his request as a burning pain in her guts causes her to buckle over. “Aï! What’s wrong?”

“Acqua…please…I need some water.” A frantic feeling overwhelms her as another wave of pain rolls in simultaneous with the realization of what is causing it: downstairs the man is being skewered with something burning hot. [Y/N] has to steel herself to block it out, leaving her with a numb sensation.

Surprisingly, the man leaves the door ajar as he hurries back inside giving her a few seconds to acknowledge the worried voices in her ear that this is the right place and that she has to move, or the man will die. The pale man comes back, hunkering low and proffering a tall glass of water. The team is almost at the corner, so they will be here any moment now, but there is no time to lose. _If they continue he’ll go into shock._ That would kill him, because he already is weakened from other injuries and lack of nutrition. Moving faster than she thought she could, [Y/N] pushes the man’s skull against the doorframe. He’s out cold, and she leaps over him even before he’s hit the ground.

Glass still in the hand, she turns first left and then right, stepping into the living room and coming face to face with the next man who is gaping at the intruder in surprise. His gun is still holstered, leaving his hands empty. With a crunch, [Y/N] shatters the rim of the glass and throws the splintered pieces in his dark-skinned face, causing him to lift his arms in a shielding motion which leaves his abdomen exposed. Stretching an arm as she strides forward, she jams the jagged remnants into his guts. It requires force as it penetrates both shirt and skin before the gash gives in and almost swallows her hand too. That’s when she twists and pulls back, bringing insides outside with a sickening sound.

Behind her, someone is advancing and she’s lucky that freeing the glass makes her stagger and drop into a backwards roll because it makes him literally stumble over her, falling onto his friend and sending them both crashing to the grey-streaked marble floor ([Y/N] would like to take credit for it, but that wouldn’t be true).

[Y/N] has finally found her feet again, bringing her up to a standing position…and stopping the moment the cold steel from the barrel of a gun touches the back of her skull. Everything is moving so fast and her adrenaline is pumping her on. _Maybe that’s why I’m not afraid?_ Natasha and the backup are only just appearing on the radar, too far away to help. Before her, the man she had accidentally knocked to the floor is getting up, glaring at her with death in his eyes. _Move or die._ Sidestepping and turning in one motion the gun goes off right next to her ear a split second before she can grab hold of the naked arm of an olive-skinned, tattooed man. Even through the block, she can sense the change behind her, and she instinctively knows there is one less hostile to worry about. Sending pain through every nerve, his hold on the gun fails and [Y/N] can wrench it free of his hand by grabbing it like a hammer. Another second and it impacts with his temple, turning his knees to rubber.

Face to face with the last two men, the solitary Avenger hears the tires screech outside. Taking in the scene in front of her, she swallows hard by the sight of a giant of a man. Equal amounts of muscle and fat is covered by the black tactical clothing they all are wearing. Hair is sprouting from the few exposed bits of skin, hinting at an ancestry of gorillas and perhaps old-fashioned pirates if judging by the big beard that covers half of his face. Somewhere in the dark recesses a grin is lurking, sending it’s threatening quality as a gleam in his small eyes. The three people who were upstairs are now on the way down…still the sight of the adversaries can’t keep [Y/N] from smiling, because even an enormous man with a metal bat can’t win in a gun fight. _The little guy has a knife._ He isn’t small per se…just smaller.

In any other situation, she would have appreciated his looks (a perfect shape covered in skin like midnight), but there is no time. It’s instinct rather than observation that warns her of his weapon, and she aims at him, squeezing a trigger that won’t budge. A quick glance is all it takes to see the little fingerprint reader near the safety… _Fucking hell, it’s useless for me._ All she can use it for is tossing it, but the gorilla of a man neatly deflects it with a swing of the bat and it skitters under the flowered couch next to the floor lamp to her right. _It’s two metal poles stuck on a foot._ She throws herself towards it as the bat comes down, leaving a small crater in the marble floor where it strikes. Grabbing the lamp with both hands at each end of the brass poles, [Y/N] yanks it, freeing the wire from the socket in the wall so she can parry the next blow. The impact is so heavy that the tubes nearly break, imitating how the bones in her arms feel. Trying to get back on the feet, she lifts the impromptu weapon to take the brunt of the next hit before she has to roll out of the way as the bat severs the lamp in two and glances off her shoulder.

Once more, she rolls across the floor ( _but at least his time I can take some of the credit_ ) placing the knife wielding bad guy in between her and the rabid gorilla. Compared to what Natasha and Bucky have prepared her for, this guy is sluggish as he jabs the blade towards her, but in his defense his hand must be welted onto the knife because he doesn’t let go when she slams one tube hard down on his wrist, before she skirts around him and herself clockwise, gaining momentum to jam the other piece of metal in between his ribs on his back. _Leftish to the spine, next to the shoulder blade._ [Y/N] has to duck the bat again, but it means she can angle the tube upwards while she continues the spin on the slick stone floor.

Out in the hallway the sounds of a skirmish can be heard and [Y/N] the instigator is dimly aware of the hostiles taking a massive beating from Bucky and Nat, but there is no time. A sharp pain in her shoulder and an uncomfortable sound. The giant finally gets in a clean hit that makes [Y/N] buckle just as she tries to get up. As he raises the blunt weapon again, she clings on to his left arm, getting yanked up from the ground with enough force to send her legs outwards behind him where they find footing on first the couch and then the wall, propelling her around to his back while, somehow, her hands have found his chin in the forest of coarse hairs and back of the bald head. She has to hold on firmly to prevent the hand from slipping in the beads of sweat. Pushing off hard, probably leaving shoeprints on the white plaster, the gravity-increased weight brings him down hard on the floor with a thud and an unhealthy crunch from the spine just at the nape of the neck.

Looking over his shoulder from the spot on his back, [Y/N] can see the tongue fall out of his mouth and she’s painfully aware of what she’s just done…so is Bucky and Natasha as they enter the room, staring at her crouched posture on top of the meat-mountain and the bodies on the floor. Upstairs the rest of the team has nearly finished their sweep and their voices fed directly into [Y/N]’s left ear confirming that it’s clear. That just leaves the people below. Both Natasha and [Y/N] move for the door obscuring the stairs down, but the team-leader beats [Y/N] to it by a hair’s thickness.

“Patch up. Let me handle this.” And with a deep, silent breath she moves down the steps, like a cat on the hunt.

There is only one to heal. Partially covered by the body of one of his former friends, the second victim is clutching his belly to prevent anything else from spilling out, but both blood and other less savoury things are oozing past his paling hands as [Y/N] crouches in front of him, shoving a guy with a hole through the head away. _That’s where the bullet went._ She nearly feels religious, knowing that it had been intended for her but that she’d sidestepped it just in time.

“Move.”

Bucky’s voice is commanding, and she obeys without thinking, hurling herself sideways and then a gun goes off. _Did he miss?_ White dust from the wall erupts in a horizontal geyser, but there is no doubt that his aim was true as the eyes of the gutted man goes blank before his head lolls to the side, allowing fat red drops to land on the floor next to him. There was no shared pain this time either, only a draining feeling as his life fades away together with the adrenaline that had kept her going. Vertigo kicks in and it’s a good thing [Y/N]’s already on the floor. One last shot fills the room in unison with Natasha’s last bit of work downstairs. _I killed them. Killed._ Someone has put the words on repeat in [Y/N]’s head and it isn’t until Natasha shakes her, that she returns somewhat to reality.

“I told you to patch up.”

“He didn’t let me…” The healer can’t get herself to look at the corpse.

“Not them, we don’t take anyone with us except what we had planned.” _That explains the type of cleanup the rest have initiated._ “I meant you. Hurry, you have another patient.”

Looking down, [Y/N] realizes that even though she healed her beaten bones as she was fighting, there are still wounds she hadn’t even noticed until now: mostly smaller cuts and abrasions but there is one slash across her belly that is unnervingly grievous and suddenly it hurts like hell. _Pain is good._ It’s a thought she’s worked hard on to banish from her mind years ago, where physical pain was the only distraction or means of coping she had. Physical pain was easier to deal with than the constant ache in the soul and she’s learned to inflict it in just the right amount and right place for it to be her own secret…now it feels like a reminder of what she has just done. _Punishment._

She doesn’t heal it before getting up, brushing Bucky aside as he starts to fuzz. “Patient first or I’ll be too drained.”

The man downstairs needs all [Y/N] can do for him, she realizes while descending the stairs. Natasha is lowering him down on the floor and [Y/N] crouches near a woman, Betty Ross, trying to get her to calm down by explaining who they are and that she is safe. It quiets her down enough for the healer to move to the next person and concentrate on the task at hand.

Moving her palms across the man’s body, [Y/N] has to use her nails and fingers to remove dead tissue or foreign objects before healing some parts. They’ve been at it for a long time, it’s the only explanation to the scabs and crusts across some of the wounds. _Bastards._ A wave of revulsion gives energy to fuse bones and regrow flesh and organs. The last area she focuses on is his face, which is swollen and almost only consists of fissures and splinters, even teeth are lacking, and it takes a long time before the features that he used to have begin to re-emerge. _I do know him!_ Last time [Y/N] saw him, he was dressed sharply and functioned as the private security for Thaddeus Ross. _He thought he was talking to someone else, he doesn’t know me._ Even though he’s starved, his consciousness returns, and he tries to get his bearings.

“It’s alright, Jeffrey. We’ve got you now. The bastards are done hurting you.” He might not believe her, but he has no power to object.

…

They more or less carry both ex-prisoners out into the van before driving off with Sanders behind the wheel (both Italian agents stay back to wait for the cleanup-crew). In the back of the van, miss Ross and Jeffrey are curled up close together, and [Y/N] envies their ability to sleep and Nat’s gift for chatting about sightseeing in Rome. The Russian’s pointing out buildings as the van rumbles through the maze of streets on it’s way to the highway. Bucky and [Y/N] are sitting in the back and she’s not been able to meet his eyes, not because she thinks any less of him for killing the one she’d left alive, but because she’s not sure she wants him to see who she apparently can be. Either way, [Y/N] knows something is going on because he’s grinding his teeth down quite quickly.

“Here.” A müsli bar lands in her lap after having completed an arch from him. “Don’t ever do that again.” _Which part?_ “Don’t ever go in before your backup’s ready.”

“If I’d waited he’d be dead.” Logically, [Y/N] knows he’s right though.

Slashing like a whip his answer’s there right away. “So be it. It was rash and it could have been fatal.”

“Oh, give her some credit. You saw the work she did…it was perfect.” Natasha trills. “Much better than I could have hoped for. I think we should let her go on a rampage more often.” The thought makes [Y/N] shudder.

“Natalia Romanova. Don’t encourage her.” Bucky’s voice’s still gruff and only a tiny smirk betrays him. _He’s…proud?_

Unwrapping the snack, [Y/N] barely gives herself time to chew it before it’s swallowed and as soon as it’s gone, he hands her another one. And then a bottle of water to wash it all down. All the time he’s keeping his grey eyes fixed on her and the wound she’s still left unhealed.

Accepting that there is a time and a place for everything, [Y/N] allows the body to sort itself out (including the growing bruises on her shoulder). A warm tingly sensation, that in her mind is a warm purple haze, seeps through the flesh and skin. Nodding approvingly, he soaks the sleeve of his pullover with water and kneels on the floor in front of her, his firm torso resting against her knees. [Y/N] can feel his muscles work through the fabric of his t-shirt while he reaches out and lifts up her top a bit so he can wipe off the blood that has been seeping steadily towards the waistband of her leggings. The movement is tender as Bucky flattens his palm just at the edge of it and a tiny change in his heartbeat gives her the acute impression that his mind is on something else entirely before he breathes in, pulls the top back down and scoots back onto the little bench.

...   ...

Everyone (except Sanders and [Y/N]) are sleeping on the way across the Atlantic on the jet and she envies them. The one time she tries to close her eyes, she sees her hands ripping through the flesh of faceless people and cracking their bones. She wakes up shaking and ready to hurl, while the others are sleeping quietly.

When Sanders opens the cargo doors of the quinjet, the resident medics are all standing ready to greet the two rescued guests, dismissing [Y/N] as the doctor leaves with the argument that she’s done what she can do for now. Accepting silently, the Inhuman heads off down the narrowing hallway, ignoring Bucky as he calls out for her. Somewhere behind her, Natasha places a hand on his shoulder.

[Y/N] finds her way to the showers. _It’s been more than 48 since I last had one and I need it badly_. Thankfully no one else is around, leaving her free to yank off the bloodied and torn pieces of elastane and cotton layer by layer…even the sweatshirt she pulled on once they got in the air has dark smudges on the inside. Turning the water scalding hot, [Y/N] scrubs herself raw with a feverish vigour to somehow rinse off the invisible residue on the hands. Like a Lady Macbeth, except there is no blood when she looks down at the shaking fingers. She clenches them into fists, while staring through the curtain of water, eyes fixed on the tiles of the wall. It hurts and the joints pop when she slams the left knuckles into the hard surface. _That was for a cracked skull._ Scrapes on the knuckles shine red after another impact. _The whiplash to a temple._ Again, this time cracking the bones and drawing tiny beads of blood. _The twisted neck._ Once more, cracking both the tile and the bones in fingers and hand. _The impaled heart._ Bile is burning in [Y/N]’s throat from the memory and this time the fist punches through the wall. When she pulls it out, shards of cement and other building materials are cutting and scraping her wrist, some of them lodge on the ragged limb that is extracted like the broken glass when it got pulled from the guts.

[Y/N]’s just raised the fist again as something ice-cold grabs hold of the wrist. _Where did he come from?_ Metallic fingers lock in an iron grip, but the arm that wraps around her waist, pulling her backwards against the body behind her, is rippling with muscles and warmth. _Safe._ A strangled sound escapes [Y/N] and Bucky sits down in the puddle on the floor and pulls her up onto his lap, rocking her back and forth like a child until she stops resisting and simply lets each sob roll through her.

Once she’s drained, resting against his chest limp and empty, Bucky starts to pick out shards from her wrist and hand, kissing the wet hair on the top of her head each time it draws blood.

“Heal it.”

She’s too tired to object and the slow trickle that has been colouring the water around them comes to a halt as the skin seals, removing any evidence of what she’s done to herself. _Not the wall though._ Looking over to the wall a new surge of guilt makes her cringe.

“It doesn’t matter…it’s just a wall.”

“You’re drenched.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll dry.”

Still, he reaches up and turns off the water, allowing the cold air to crawl over them and it makes [Y/N] shiver. Lifting her, he brings the quivering woman to one of the long benches by the lockers and wraps a towel around her, tugging the wet hair behind her ears before he begins to rub her back through the coarse fabric.

“How….why did you –“

“I’ve seen that look before. One thing is to have someone die…but it’s different to take a life.” He’s busy scrubbing her legs until every drop of water is gone. “You did what you had to do.”

…   …  

Since they landed yesterday, Bucky’s been insisting on staying near [Y/N]. Now she’s lying, looking at his chest’s steady movement while the first light of day turns the darkness into a dull grey with patches of primary colour. The few times she’s drifted off, she’s found herself transported back in time to Rome, making her insides squirm in protest. _That should teach me._ An insistent buzzing of a phone drags her back to New York.

“Yeah ‘ello?” Even if [Y/N] hasn’t slept, her voice is still croaky.

“Morning,” Natasha is unusually chipper. “Need you both to come in.”

…

Even at this time, there’s evidence of a lot of people at HQ, when [Y/N] and Bucky pull into the parking spot. Getting out of the car, she recognizes Nat’s mechanical muscle of a Mustang…not to mention the flashy orange that must be one of Tony’s cars. _I wonder if they are all there._ Turning back with two long strides, Bucky has wrapped [Y/N] up in shielding arms, as if he knows how exposed she feels. He hasn’t said a lot, trusting that she’ll talk when ready, but so far she’s just soaked in his presence, like now while she steels herself and they continue to Coulson’s office.

They’re neither the first nor the last to arrive, and there is eager chatter while people greet each other and settle in. Of course, Steve is there too, flanked by his trusty sidekick Sam, and Tony is telling them some silly story that’s making them both laugh. Under normal circumstances [Y/N] would have been curious to know what it’s about, however today is different. Sticking close to Bucky, she shies back from the socializing even as Vision arrives, deep in a conversation with May and oblivious to the fact that he just walked through a wall and a bookcase.

“Morning.” Somehow director Coulson always manages to seem genuinely happy to see his employees. “There’s good news on the menu…as of yesterday a small team have managed to locate and free both Betty Ross and Jeffrey Donovan.”

An inaudible sigh of relief escapes Bruce, reminding [Y/N] of a detail from his file, while everyone else cheer the unnamed heroes. It makes her proud, and involuntarily she straightens up a bit even though everyone else did all the hard work hunting down intel and checking out leads. The surging pride is only allowed to last for a moment, until Coulson reveals that the cleanup-crew found surveillance footage from inside the house in Rome as well as a bunch of communications and coded documents that are still being decrypted…of course any help is welcome. Even though it doesn’t seem like it was transmitted, he still wants them all to go through it as best they can, as it will be pertinent to the next phases. _What phases?_ Then reality hits [Y/N] like a ton of bricks. _They’ll see what I did._

Dismissing everyone but Bucky, Natasha and [Y/N], Coulson sends people off to study the new material. After the last person has closed the door (undoubtedly to Stark’s annoyance as he hates to be left out from anything), the director clicks a few buttons on his tablet which makes a small projector erupt from the desk, spreading its lights across a screen that has descended, obscuring the books and gadgets on the shelves. The displayed picture is split in four images, each showing their own perspective of a living room that is hauntingly familiar, and if that hadn’t been enough [Y/N] recognizes the people: five men, and a woman who is facing off against the first of her adversaries. _I look so small in the blue top and tight leggings._ Next to her, Bucky becomes taught as in agreement with her thoughts.

“I know the two of you have been responsible for [Y/N]’s training, so I thought it would interest you to see what she has learned.” Coulson sends the apprentice a worried look before pushing the button. “[Y/N]…this is never easy for anyone in the beginning.”

The images start to move, and [Y/N] sees the flurry movements erupt as each digitalized person lashes and launches. There are narrow misses which she had been oblivious to in the heat of the struggle and witnessing it in the safety of the office still makes the air stick in her throat. By the time the woman ( _by the time **I**_ ) take the first life, Bucky gently tries to turn her from the screen, but she can’t help staring at the flashing scenes. The footage stops, freezing as she’s crouched on the back of the giant, facing a camera just above the door where Natasha and Bucky entered. _Something’s off…_ Squinting, studying the killer that looks like her, [Y/N] can’t pinpoint what it is. _Maybe the fact that I’m looking at myself poised for on kill_.

“There are a few things we need to practice.” Natasha’s been squinting at the screen and her matter-of-fact tone of voice startles [Y/N]. “But I’m impressed.”

“First time I was on a mission, I was too scared to fire my gun…” Lost in thought for a second, Coulson smiles at his own words. “Then again…I was only there to hack the network as the intelligence officer I was.”

They all have each their own memories on the subject and reminiscing and exchanging stories leaves [Y/N] to stare at the frozen image. her guts are definitely kept in place as a hard knot that tries to expel the last thing she had to eat (travel rations that on their own aren’t much more than calories without taste – quinjets aren’t made to ensure culinary extravaganza).

“Sir. May I be excused?” _Please let me leave, please._ [Y/N]’s jaws are clenched harder than she wants in an effort to keep control of what comes out of her mouth as all three turn at her.

“Yes. Go home and get some rest.”

Her only answer is a curt nod, before she turns on the heel and stalk out the room, almost slamming the door. She has to wait for the elevator, otherwise she’d have made her escape before Bucky caught up to her again, his serious frown reflected in the clean metal of the sliding doors. He’s just about to say something.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything.”

There is no way he’ll leave unless he has assured himself that everything is fine. Not that he has actually said that that’s the deal. In fact, he hasn’t really said anything it all, not even about the slight remodelling of the women’s showers. And [Y/N] hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes.

…   …

It’s a long day, where [Y/N] can’t get any rest, unable to do anything that wear grooves in the floor by pacing around which also makes Bucky’s scowl grow more and more worried, suiting the dark clouds that are rolling in over the city.

He snaps the book closed with a dull bang that makes her heart leap into the throat. “Okay, doll. That’s it. Get your training gear on.”

She follows his lead through one neighbourhood to the other, until they are standing outside an old boxing gym. Bucky leads her around the back, where he breaks the lock by squeezing it in his metal hand so they can come inside. It’s dark and dusty.

“It belongs to my neighbour, but he had to close it down some months back.”

He rummages around, picking up odd bits of pieces of left over equipment and junk that no one wanted to bring away when they closed the place down. In the middle of the big room is an elevated boxing ring, still intact with ropes and even a ragged towel in one corner. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust that softens the sounds of Bucky’s treasure hunt. It’s warmer in here, simply because they are out of the wind, and [Y/N] zips down the jacket, letting out a puff of steam before she tosses it on the ground where his is lying. A cracking sound precedes the rumble of a few ceiling tiles that come crashing down right next to Bucky. As he comes back from the dark recesses, he places two big hooks (still with flakes of concrete stuck to the threads) and a good meter of metal chain on the edge of the elevated platform. _This must have been for suspending sandbags._

“Pick your poison.” His eyes are like cold steel, hard and determined. “Pick or fight unarmed.”

 _He wants to spar?_ A sour taste wells in the back of [Y/N]’s mouth, but she picks up the big hooks, wrapping the fingers around them so she can use the base to scratch or stab with if it had been a real fight.

He eyes the white-knuckled grip. “Why those?”

“They are a bit more familiar. Nat has made me train with dummy knives.” These aren’t fake, though.

“Thought so. That means you get the chain instead.”

Taking the hooks from her, he dives under the lowest rope in a fluid movement. Grabbing the clattering links, [Y/N] follows his lead although she’s hesitant as to what is about to happen. Giving her a few hints, he allows the woman to familiarize herself with the object before he squares off in front of her. She’s wrapped the cold metal around her left lower arm a few times so she can use it to defensively, and the middle section is hanging loosely between her hands leaving the other end free. She’s swinging it in slow, heavy circles, increasing the speed by tugging it a bit each time it begins to descend from the top of the arch.

…

Her movements are hesitant at first and Bucky’s stomach clenches with pity of what lies ahead. _I have to do it._ _It’s for her own good._ Steeling his heart, he plants himself in front of her, stance wide and knees slightly bend as he finds the rhythm of the swirling chain. A hook clenched in each fist with the threads jutting out between his fingers he lunges at her in a flurry of motion. A surprised yelp escapes her even as she tries to dodge the attack, but she is too slow and one of the makeshift weapons grinds into her upper arm while the other scrapes across her ribs as she writhes away.

With a yank, he detaches and steps back, allowing her a second or two to take in what just happened. _Don’t look at her eyes._ But he does, and her pain and fear nearly crushes him. _Don’t give in._ He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her…but now, in order to protect her from others, he has to be the one to make her fear for her life. He has to make her fight back because it’s the only thing that can break her out of the self-punishing spiral she’s sinking into.

She’s backed away all the way to the ropes and there is nowhere she can go as he starts forwards again. A sound like a snarl warns him that this time she is ready, and as the chain slams down on his right hand it’s with such a force that he drops nearly drops the hook. Even while dodging the other one, she wraps the cold metal tight enough to squeeze his fingers until the joints crack and he has to let go. With a yank he manages to reposition the restraining chain enough to free his hand and as he avoids a sweeping, half-hearted kick at his knee he flips the remaining hook into the air and catches it with the chained hand in a backwards grab before bringing it forcefully towards her teres. Cursing, she dodges the brunt of the blow and even though the tip still leaves a ragged groove that flares up angry red he instinctively knows that it’s not deep. She has continued her backwards motion and as her back slams into the floor her feet come up, connecting with his pelvis with such strength that he is lifted off his feet. Flying over her head, he spots a poisonous violet gleam in her eyes. The same shade that almost made her eyes glow that day in Rome as she was poised for her next kill on the back of one of the men.

 _Funny,_ Bucky muses as he sails through the air above her, _fighting always seems to be in slow-motion._ Because of that he has plenty of time to brace for impact, rolling over his shoulder in a tight ball that only grinds to a halt when his heels dig into the springy surface of the platform. In an instant he’s back on his feet, spinning around to face her, knowing that she too would have had to get back up.

 _Holy…_ She’s already standing with the chain swinging so fast it’s causing the air to hum, and he only has time to raise his arm as it slices through the air. Metal meeting metal jars his ears and makes him grit his teeth, and he flails to catch the end that’s wrapping around his wrist. Twisting and ducking Bucky manages to wrap both metal objects around her, effectively pinning her slender arms to her body as he positions himself behind her, holding on tight as she thrashes to break free. Panic and fury racks her, and he realizes that she isn’t taking her eyes off the hook in his fist. Tossing it aside, his hand is free to embrace her shoulders and he feels her chest heaving to suck in air and her heart galloping like an entire herd of horses.

“Why did you fight back?” His voice is calm…it always was even if he had been fighting hard.

Hers is trembling. “I…I didn’t want to.”

“Bullshit. Why did you fight back.”

For a heartbeat the only sound is from their breathing. “I don’t wanna die.”

“Good.” [Y/N]’s heat is burning through his clothes and despite the severity of the situation he’s all too aware of how close she is when he holds her like this, making it hard to push away ideas that have nothing to do with teaching her to stay alive. “The men in Italy. Would they’ve let you live?”

The question makes her whimper softly, but she shakes her head. “But I attacked them.”

“Tell me why you did that.” She shakes her head and in frustration he grabs her chin, forcing her to stop. “Tell me!”

“They were torturing him. They would’ve…killed him.” Tears are streaming silently down her face and he hates what he’s doing. _I have to see this through._ “They would have killed him.”

“So you stopped them.” Softening his grip, Bucky cups her cheek and wipes away a tear. “You saved their victim, didn’t you?”

“They would’ve killed him.”

“But they didn’t, did they?” He needed [Y/N] to say the words herself.

“…no.”

“Why not?” _Come on._

“I…because…I stopped them…” Sniffling, something inside her lets go and her body starts to ease against his. “I stopped them…from killing him…I saved him.”

 _Thank you!_ “You saved him, and you saved yourself. And that’s good. You did what you had to do.”

…

Bucky’s words resonated inside her. _I did what I had to do._ But had she had to kill them? Replaying the images she had seen in Coulson’s office, she accepts what Bucky means: it had been either them or her and at least she had tried to hold back for as long as she could have. Shuddering by the thought, [Y/N] tries to lean closer into the warmth and safety that is Bucky. He smells spicy and metallic, and each of his breaths tickle her neck causing goosebumps to grow along her spine and collarbone.

“I discovered something, by the way.” He’s almost whispering. “When you let go and become ferocious…your eyes turn violet.”

“At least we know I didn’t see red then.” The words are blurted out before [Y/N] has a chance to think.

His snort of laughter is what makes her realize what she’s just said, and she cranes her neck to look at him with a deploring look.

“No, doll. You didn’t see red.” He places a careful kiss on her forehead which causes her to sigh and close her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me.” Bucky murmurs into her hair.

…

“I think I might be able to accept your apology for helping me get my head on straight.” There’s a sarcastic edge to her tone. He has learned that it’s a good thing, because often it’s her way of teasing.

“Well…that too I guess.” _Keep that face straight._

Pinning him with her gaze she arches an eyebrow. “Too?”

“Yeah. I was more thinking of how I kicked your ass.” Now he can’t stop grinning.

Straining to turn around she almost hisses at him. “Kick my ass? Is that what you think just happened?”

“I’m the one on top of the situation, aren’t I?”

Already before he has finished talking can he feel that she has tapped into an unused reserve of energy. Her eyes are flashing violet again as a smile curves her lips in a foreboding manner. In no time has she snug her feet behind his ankles, pulling his footing away as she slams backwards into his chest, sending them both onto the ground with a crash that sends dust billowing everywhere. Out of breath, he loses his hold on the chain and her and she rolls off him, reaching for the hook to his left, and even though he surges for it she still gets to it first and flips onto her knees, one of them planted between his shoulder blades allowing for restraint even though she’s tugging his head backwards thanks to a firm hold in his hair. A cold prick by his jugular warns him not to move.

“Now _who’s_ on top of the situation?”

 _Not yet, dolly._ He just can’t let her get away with this one…especially as her weight on top of him brings back memories of other times she’s been ‘on top’. With a grunt he rolls, dragging her under him as he goes. He doesn’t have to look to know where her hands are and he catches them and pins them down next to her shoulders, making the hook slip free of her fingers and her back arch in a way that pushes her chest against him. Only a few layers of clothes are separating him from her breasts, and he swallows hard as more images appear in his mind sending a rush downwards through his body. Meeting [Y/N]’s gaze, gold and violet mixing and she wraps his legs around his waist, pulling herself closer to him until her mound is pressed against his swelling cock.

…

Bucky inhales sharply and she feels a rush of victory that she, even now, has some power over him. Sure, she might not technically be on top…but she still has some control over what will happen.

Using only her abs she fights against his hold and she can…almost…there! Biting softly onto his earlobe she soothes the sting with the tip of her tongue before she has to slump back down because he’s pulling her arms above her head. He’s being tactical, using his left hand now that he has to hold both her wrists with one…there’s no way she can break free of that grip. _Much rougher than he ever has dared before._ His other hand has disappeared under her top, his palm cupping her breast before he slides it around and down past her lower back. As his fingertips digs into her glute she moans and the sound spurs him on, frantically holding on to her as he grinds between her legs until he’s found a better position.

Then something makes his change his mind: with a series of rapid movements he has pulled her top over her head, but instead of tossing it aside he fashions a restraint and her arms are somehow behind her back when he lifts her up onto his lap. Gasping in surprise, [Y/N] tests the knots and has to accept that they are holding. _He’s good at tying._ And untying. A few tugs have the string in her training pants undone granting him easy access as he slips his fingers down the front of them and her undies where he reaches the sensitive folds. A few flicks of his index finger across her clit makes it buzz and hum in her core and she knows she is getting wet. Almost like he reads her mind he slides a finger further until it enters her, making her shiver with want.

Smiling, he pulls back and unties his own string while keeping their gazes locked, lids low and eyes dark like storm clouds, before he returns to the task at hand. Now that he has both hands at his disposal it’s easy for him to pull her pants off before he flips her over onto her stomach, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs. Her hair is in her face so she can’t see him, but she can feel his hands as they move up her legs, massaging her calves and thighs before slapping her ass. Not hard, but enough to make them warm under his strong hands before they find each their own task: one reaching around to her abdomen, pulling her body off the ground so she’s resting on her knees…the other is stroking her folds that are burning hot compared to the icy fingers of the hand he’s using.

His touch makes her squirm with pleasure even as the cold dulls the sensitivity. His movements are quick and smooth as he switches arms, holding her up now with the left so he can feel her, flicking a thumb over the clit simultaneously with slipping a couple of fingers inside her, making her whimper. He doesn’t go easy on her as he seeks out each spot that has her coming faster than she expected, tightening around his fingers as they spin and pump harder than before. When he pulls out suddenly [Y/N] gasps for air, both wanting a chance to land and also begging for more.

“More?” She must have spoken her mind. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

There’s a faint shuffle and suddenly it’s not his fingers that are stroking through the folds, but the silky head of his cock, throbbing already. He grabs her ass with the free hand. He has to guide her into position and the moment he finds the entrance he thrusts, slamming deep inside her and filling her completely. When he pulls out, she’s shuddering again, her thighs burning as she clenches the empty air in a desperate attempt to keep control over her own body, an endeavour she has to give up on as he thrusts again and again, faster each time. His hand slams into the ground next to her, allowing him to lean forward, his chest rubbing against her back each time he grinds his hips towards her. His breath is escaping in ragged, hot puffs against her neck and shoulder whereas her own is caught in her throat and only allowed out as he makes her moan deeply. With a groan he pulls her backwards with him and as she lands in his lap, she feels him burst inside her in waves that sends her off again.

…

Only when they both start to breath evenly does she push off. She has to wait for him to untie the improvised handcuffs before she can saunter over to where her pants are and get dressed. Pulling his own pants up, Bucky looks for their outerwear and makes sure she’s wrapped up properly before they head out into the windy world.

She’s tired and he does his best to encourage her to make sure [Y/N] makes it all the way up into apartment. There he strips her and carries her to the shower where she sits, half asleep, as he rinses the sweat and dust off both of them before drying her. It’s a different vulnerability that shows now that she’s succumbing to the last days hardship and the rough manner Bucky made her deal with it. Perhaps that’s the reason that he tugs her in as well.

When he turns to leave, she reaches out for him. “Don’t leave me, please.”

 _How could I?_ A knot is tugging gently at his heart…another in his stomach.


End file.
